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christineott@comcast.net
| Platooski Living in Trenton has its ups and downs. We haven't been here quite a year yet, and while we love the house, there are significant problems in the city for which there are no easy solutions. The issue of personal safety is one that is never far from anyone's mind, and really, no matter what anyone says (including me), personal safety has to be a top priority. People have all sorts of theories about why there are problems in New Jersey's cities, and honestly, I don't know why there is so much dysfunction. I don't have a very good theory. But I think that poverty is at the heart of every single other dilemma that faces this city. It feeds into crime. And it certainly feeds into irresponsible behavior. I could turn this into a long piece about the problems in Trenton, or the problems with our neighborhood, but I don't want to get into all of it now. This is Platooski's page, after all. But Platooski represents a disturbing problem in the city: throw-away animals. So many people here have been forgotten that I'm sure it's difficult for a lot of people to even worry about the animals. Glen was in Canada over Memorial Day Weekend, 2005, and was due home around midnight on the Monday of the long weekend. I stayed up for him, and while I waited, I heard a crying coming from outside. I looked, but didn't see anything. The crying got louder. More urgent. I couldn't identify what could possibly be making the noise, but it was gut-wrenching, and there was absolutely no way to ignore it. I went outside and looked around. Nothing. I went back inside, and the crying started again. I noticed the neighborhood strays were descending upon my corner, and assumed there was a cat out there. I figured a cat in heat, since it was kitten season. Glen pulled up, and the cats dispersed, but the crying continued. While he unloaded his car, I walked quietly to the sound of the crying, and discovered a very dirty baby gray-and-white kitten in our hedge. I know the cats have pushed Lacey to the edge, but they've also tested Glen as well. But there was no way we could leave the kitten outside, he'd die. I noticed he did have his teeth, so I gave him some cat food, and he ate. I called my contact at the shelter the next morning, and got some advice; and we decided we'd get him adopted. Heck, we'd only been living at the new house for 8 months at that point, and we'd found our second abandoned cat (Angus being the first); at this rate, we knew we'd be in big trouble. Because of his age and needs, and because he was still a couple weeks away from going to his first vet appointment, we decided to name him. Glen named him Platooski for one of his table hockey buddies: apparently Glen had been mispronouncing his friend's last name for a couple of years, calling the guy "Plytewski," when in fact, the name had a couple of extra syllables. Glen liked the name so much that he decided to call the kitten by that name. We found someone who agreed to take Platooski after he received a clean bill of health, but, long story short, despite his clean bill of health, his new mommy didn't work out. We were extremely upset: we didn't want a fourth (at the time) cat, but we were also very attached to him, so the thought of trying to find him a new home was distressing. Plus, Angus, the bully (well, to the other cats), for some reason, just adored Platooski. He cleaned him, played with him, and slept with him. We got thinking that maybe Platooski might wear Angus out, but serve as peacemaker in the house, and so far, it's looking promising. Since then, Crabcake has come along, too, and obviously, we're out of our minds. |
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